


Confessional

by RadioScientist



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Introspection, Light Angst, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, poor Credence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 10:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8664430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadioScientist/pseuds/RadioScientist
Summary: CONFESSIONAL: (Adjective) Relating to religious confessionIn which Credence visits Grindelwald in prison.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Just a small thing I wanted to throw into the wonderful collection of works for this movie! 
> 
>  
> 
> (I don't know how Wizard Prison works tbh.)

Credence stares at the man behind the prison bars. His appearance has changed rather severely, and yet he cannot find it within himself to think too long on it. He looks like a ghost, with his pale hair and dark, contrasting shadows settling on his skin. Or perhaps like a corpse. He's disgusted with himself that this changes nothing.

Credence can relate, after all. He's been twisted into something no longer human; no longer just a mess of flesh and bone and blood. There's smoke running through him now- cold and churning- and he spends his time either drowning in it, or finding himself taking gasping breaths, breaking the surface like moonlight appearing in slits of silver from behind clouds. Perhaps this is why he had managed to breach the prison's numerous defences without thinking about it. Perhaps he was more smoke than man, now.

A clearing of a throat, and Graves (or Grindelwald, he doesn't know what to call the person he's looking at anymore) raises an eyebrow at his visitor.

“Credence.”

He almost flinches from the attention the man pins on him, his gaze weighted and warm and... he isn't sure if he can really do this. He'd forgotten the heady feeling of having his attention. Already his body feels prickly with the intensity, and he isn't sure if it's a feeling of pleasure or pain. His solid body drifts a little, and he has to reign the smoke back inside.

“It's good to see that you're alive. I hadn't expected a visit, though I doubt you're here to stage a daring rescue.”

Credence does not reply. He has the strange feeling that his visit had been anticipated for a while.

“You tried to kill me, you know.” He smiles; a soft, dangerous kind of smile. “I forgive you. You were overwhelmed, you had lost faith in me. I understand.”

He has to respond to that.

“I didn't come here for forgiveness” Credence replies, desperately. He doesn't know _what_ he came here for. He's still confused. He wants answers, a sense of what to do now. The dangerous smile widens, taking on a mocking edge.

“Of course you did. Why else do we come to a confessional?”

“I- I'm not- I don't...”

Grindelwald chuckles, and it sounds like church bells ringing, or maybe a funeral bell tolling.

“Tell me your sins, child”. He whispers it low and steady, just like the priests had back home, and Credence has to fight the urge to drop to his knees and spill himself open for him once again, to fight his instincts to repent, become clean, earn a charade of comfort which had been cultivated over years of severe religion. He wants to bow his head in shame, but shame for what exactly, he cannot tell. It would be so easy to slip back into old habits, as easy and as comforting as slipping and falling into a pool of dark water.

Instead, he just tries to breathe. It's hard, with all of the smoke cloying inside his throat, but he tries.

“You said I was important.”

The words are a statement. He doesn't want a reiteration, or an explanation. It feels like this was what he came to say. The man must somehow understand, because he doesn't address it with more than a nod, and the slow loss of his smile. For that, Credence is grateful.

“You have a cut on your cheek. On your left side.” Grindelwald punctuates his statement with a twitch of his head, since his hands are shackled to point of uselessness. “Perhaps I could heal it, like old times?”

He wonders if the man knows how much he hurts him with those words. He cannot tell if this is carefully considered cruelty, or the unintended kind. It shouldn't matter anyway, but he still so desperately wants to pretend that the offer comes from a place of love. He wants it so badly that his hands lose form for a moment, before becoming solid and shaking again. His cheek gives a throb.

Grindelwald moves forward slowly, coming towards Credence like he is the one in a cage, a terrified animal which could startle at any moment. It's an apt comparison.

“Don't!” He can feel his body vibrating, the pull of his limbs as he struggles not to lose shape and give in to the temptation to flee. “Don't come closer!”

Grindelwald stops.

“Don't be afraid, Credence. I'm here to help you”.

Credence stops breathing for a moment. He remembers one rainy day- his own desperate breaths, hands littered with cuts and his eyes stinging with the effort of holding it together. He remembers shiny black shoes, a gentle hand, a sudden warmth as his skin knits back together, his answering gasp as a man shoots him an impossibly tender look.

_Don't be afraid, Credence. I'm here to help you._

Oh, he loves him. Loves him and hates him to the point of hurting, and it's too much.

He bursts, tearing away his body and escaping the prison as fast as his writhing smoke allows him. There's a roaring in his head and, if he concentrates hard enough, he thinks he can hear a sigh coming from the man he's leaving behind.

“Until next time,” Grindelwald calls after him.


End file.
